No Sabbath on Sundays
by Don'tEvenHaveAGun
Summary: AU: A revolution been unearthed by the Faceless. The audacity to believe that minutes are more important than hours doesn't sound as absurd anymore. Madness is a sickness that can literally be caught.
1. Chapter 1

**No Sabbath on Sundays**

_And will you pray for me?_

_**Summary:**_

A revolution been unearthed by the Faceless. The audacity to believe that minutes are more important than hours doesn't sound as absurd anymore. Madness is a sickness that can literally be caught.

_**Prologue/Godless stage:**_

When she fell down that hole, when she tasted void, the first emotion that flooded her veins was fear. The second was a kiss that drowned her in poison – horribly sweet, and the intoxicated feeling of losing one's self. Perhaps she was floating on a high, be it upright or upside-down. Either way, illusions parade like marching clocks; ticking.

When she first graced the gardens of Wonderland, when she first traveled the lands of mismatched time and somber backdrops, Wonderland seemed peaceful enough: singing flowers, tall mushrooms, animals that indulged in proper gentleman ethic of table manners and tiny clothes. All seemed well, not right, but well enough to be considered home in a homeless state.

That was when Alice began to doubt herself. After spending much time behind rose-colored glasses, after drinking of the finest teas and eating the most delectable pastries – she began to wonder again. A dangerous notion for a Foreigner upon lands that she's invited to. A sin called guilt. Guilt of what? The dear girl always wondered, always pondered. But for the life of The Outsider – she couldn't remember.

Time cycles spun like webs, endless. The skies flooded like a bath of crimson, churning, tinged in clouds that hung heavy with rain. The people of the land, mostly faceless strangers been plagued with even madder intentions – resulting in a revolution against the Role Holders that kept order and abided by law.

Even The Outsider, the one that held true to never pick up firearms, finally picked up a gun in a desperate plea to coexist in a land that she could not escape.

**Background:**

Wonderland use to smell sweet. Lingering cotton candy and sage – depending to which territory one would wander across. Now, the grass faired brown, painted in a divine color of russet; dried blood tainted these lands. Trees use to dot the lands, proud and mighty oak that bore songbirds and peacock features, have now migrated off the grid and withered. Alice did hear mentions of a _JubJub Bird _from the passing Role Holders. When Alice questioned the bird's existence, the Role Holders only told her it was a bird to be feared.

Clocks decorated the lands of Wonderland. Many scattered clocks that all stopped upon an odd hour of nine. These clocks, these hearts that domed in bodies at one point, severed as constant reminders to Alice that people have died here, and that Julius Monrey been swamped by the crowding numbers of the gnawing mad to even consider the possibility of work. One did not stay in a territory long enough, not with the raging faceless that swarmed in numbers.

"Perhaps we should travel north. Higher grounds, a reasonable shot."

"That would be stupid. I say we take our damn chances and haul southward. There are plains, and we'll be able to pick off those fuckers from miles. Just set your damn tents there and let loose the lions."

Traveling by circus has definably saved Alice the torture of solitude. The Circus was the closes territory front that she was close to once the 'madness' set in like a festering wound on Wonderland. The only problem she had to endure were the 'sane' faceless performers that gave her deranged, stained smiles and the bickering Jesters that couldn't decide upon a destination. "I'd hate to say it White, Black certainly did make a point about flat grounds." Alice piped in, walking between both men with a shotgun within grasp; hollow-pointed and smothered in the lingering smell of ash. "But when weather comes into the equation, higher grounds deem more suitable."

"The notable question would be – where should we end up? Perhaps behind doors would be more suitable?" The White Joker went on, mildly grinning down at The Outsider who'd has taken in a great deal of oxygen.

"Doors that lead to nowhere will not help our predicament. I'm tired of living like nomads. I just – want to stick in one place for a while." Alice said wirily. Her hands curled over the gun, nervously thumbing against the cool steel. Numbly, she felt disgusted by her choice to pick up the gun, remembering back to the days when Boris would try to teach her how to properly handle firearms.

"That's stupid to say. Doors always lead somewhere, brat. But ignore the bastard. He doesn't know anything about doors of the escaping nature." The Warden, Black Joker, hotly replied. Arms crossing over his chest, a single eye trailing the path ahead where circus' elephants pulled tents; watching the performers that haven't caught deliria flutter here and there, gathering and watching out for passersby. "But I can see what you mean about traveling. It's unethical. Redundant. What bloody matters is how much ammo we're carryin'."

"What's happened to Wonderland…?" Alice muttered, eyes looming over backdrops, stepping over gore-stained clocks, some stomped – begging to not return to a land that only wished to torture endlessly.

"Wonderland is a state of mind, brat." Black uttered, "You decide and tell me what you think fuckin' happened."

_Apocalypse: Un-covering. A disclosure of knowledge. Lifting of the veil._

**A/N: And – scene! Yes, I know, I shouldn't be starting other fics. But this seemed fun to come up with. And the idea of an Alice that learns and grows to take care of herself seemed too good to pass up. The reason for mayhem is determined on Alice – mysterious reason – ya know. **

**Chapters will consist of 4,000 +**

**Romance will be in, but taken in moderation. **

**More Role Holders are out there, but they have all fled during the Faceless uprising. **

**I'll see if I'll continue this, along with my other stories that I've been dragging my feet on. Writers block can be a bitch. **

**Rated 17+: Sexual themes and strong language. **


	2. Chapter 2

_**Warning!: The following passage will contain cannibalism within a flashback. (It is horror) If the material is too graphic – then I'm horribly sorry to have made you uncomfortable and will apologize beforehand. I will place warnings over chapters if I deem it unfit. Whether it mentions the sexual nature, or a mutilation. (There will be no acts of rape within the distant future of this fic. It was be threatened, but never enforced!)**_

_**I'd like to thank the few favorites and follows, along with the reviewers and people who just opened it up to read. You guys are amazing for actually acknowledging and taking time out of your life to read my mediocre scribbles. I'm only using this to better my skills and not for the popularity value. Enjoy! **_

_**Also – I will have mistakes. I was sorta tired while writing this. **_

**No Sabbath on Sundays**

_Hallelujah, lock and load!_

_**There's a first time for everything.**_

Alice has counted on her fingers. Mindlessly drifting, dreaming dreams that have only left her blank. She hasn't heard from Nightmare, not within the very depths of her waterwheel mind. But she'll hear voices. Calming voices. Soothing voices. Something that belonged to her sister. Alice's mouth would go dry, her breathing swallowed, and sometimes one of the Jokers would notice the dreadful expression Alice painted herself in. _One would smile his hollow-point, bleeding grin while the other entity would stare on, slack-jawed and hollowed out like his eye._

Alice dangles her legs off the cart that the elephants pull, legs swinging unconsciously. Eyes looming here and there, watching the canvas of Wonderland deteriorate before her ocean-complex. Alice would swallow hard, fingers curling around a bar that helped keep her in place during the bumpy ride of the cart clawing its way up the mountain side. She'd listen out for the performers yelling at the elephants to move faster up the hill – fearing the dreaded end of a time shift that threatened to unveil itself at any moment. Partial to morn and not darkness that threw the circus crowed into never-ending night.

Fancy, glass bobbles clanked with the movement, luggage rustled, an oil lamp swayed from the cart, and the circus children that crowed around Alice in the back of the cart nudged only lightly in their sleep. With Alice's free hand, her fingers ran through the loose strands of hair from one child that grumbled, but quickly retorted back to his dreams, leaning his weight against Alice's lap. Once Alice felt more confident with her position, her hand loosened from the handle, letting it drape over the little girl that rested her head on the adjacent end of Alice's lap.

Scenery passed, and from the distance, Alice watched smoke rise and fire bloom. Forest fire, approximately two miles south. Alice, distraught, but not surprised, quickly averted her gaze back to the children that depended on her as a personal pillow and comfort for the time. The Foreigner would breathe slow, calming the rise of emotion of not trusting anyone and would slowly swallow down her demise upon the subject.

This past week of travel has limited Alice's patience, rattled her nerves enough that she's been too upset to vent her issues with one of the Jokers. Considering if they coexisted as one entity – their personas ranged different. White was more than willing to hear Alice out on what bothered her, while Black simply shrugged his shoulders and shoved a shotgun against her arms and told her to aim for the head.

So far, since the dawning of madness that ravaged the land of Wonderland, Alice has witnessed ten executions by the hand of the Jokers to their own subordinates. To one case, that startled Alice dearly – one of the performers settled their brain fevers by devouring the flesh of another performer while they were still alive. What's the use of eating a faceless card when they knew death would ensure disappearances and the evolutionary cycle of returning back to a clock? Recreation of the sorts.

Alice flinched at the memory, her ocean eyes widening.

…

The circus chose an appropriate nesting ground for rest and to evaluate the elephants that've been working hard with pulling the loads of carts and circus equipment. Once, in a long time, the weather felt normal and Alice actually felt like leaving the safety of the cart to finish chores before a whip snapped and warned everyone that the circus will be on the move again.

Alice quickly gathered bedding, and clothing, and to whatever request that the performers asked of her to wash. Black Joker asked for several nightshirts to be washed, while White Joker requested his jacket, that's been stained in a faint russet tinge. Happily, Alice agreed and plucked the articles to be added with her pile, and stacked them within a wicker basket that the Jokers provided her with.

"Do take the shotgun, Alice. What's the need of protection when you don't actually use it?" White droned, smirking to Alice's fumbling when the circus children circled her impatiently, tugging on her apron to hurry her along so that she could follow their directions to a stream that hasn't been tainted yet with human blood.

"The shotgun? Can't I have something smaller?" Alice grumbled, annoyed that she'd have to strap the gun to her body while carrying the wicker basket.

"Does size truly bother you?" The Warden intervened, "I'm sure I can find a pistol to suffice for your confidence." Alice's brow rose, shaking her head then huffing out in annoyance, "Mind you, brat, it's not the size of the gun that matters – it's how you handle it." He made sure to lace every word with suggestion and Alice quickly drowned him out by turning her back on him. Both of the men found amusement by pulling Alice in uncomfortable innuendos.

"Getting a little defensive, are we? You are quick to defend the size of a weapon. Men that usually prefer bigger guns tend to have – smaller assets." Alice smirked to herself, and both of the Jokers stopped their snickering. Because she knows she's won this round. And she also knew that she wasn't going to let them run her over and get away with teasing her. "Fine, I'll take the shotgun with me. I'll just have one of the children help me carry the basket up the hill over there." She dawned her index and both of the men nodded solemnly; still mortified that The Outsider mocked their manhood so freely. In front of company – their subordinates, no less.

The circus children were quick helpers. They'd bicker at first, arguing with who would help Alice first. Alice had the boy pull the basket up the hill, then she told them both that they would stay and help her wash and hang the laundry, which they pleasantly agreed to.

Alice spun her time. She made perfect use of time – for time is what she counted to ensure her sanity during her great migration across Wonderland. She's heard stories that she wouldn't mind sharing, while others – she'd pretend to forget.

She washed their clothing, even began to thread the wire to hang the clothing up to dry. The circus children would hand her clips, ring the clothing, then handed her the damp fabric to be placed over the drying wire. "We already helped wash the clothing, Miss Alice. Should we begin with the bedding?" The faceless circus child affirmed, dragging the white sheets out from the bottom of the wicker basket.

Alice simply nodded, "Yes. Thank you." She clipped the last bit of clothing up on the wire, mindlessly wiping her hands on her apron, then turning back around to help the children plunge the bedding into the river, scrubbing the fabric against a wooden washboard. "Once the clothing dries – do you two mind helping me fold the clothing?"

"We do not mind, Miss Alice." The little performers beamed, both dawning twin smiles that resulted in Alice smiling along.

Call it human nature – to inquire over dabbles that shouldn't be investigated. But one child mentioned an odd, tinged color in the running water. Upon hearing this accusation, Alice was quick to pull the bedding up and out of the river water – too late to save the bedding that took the brunt of the discoloration. Alice sighed, fingers strumming through the color of the fabric. "The color is coming down the river. I wonder from what?" One child peeped, head turning to the other.

"Do you think it could be mud that traveled downstream?"

"The color is too light to be mud. But that is a weird color."

Both of the children conversed, pulling together their own string of theories. "It wouldn't hurt to look?" Alice tilted her head at the two children who were quick to find their footing. "Could be a clay clump that actually fell in. If we remove the problem – then we can get back to washing the beddings." Alice slung over her shotgun, groaning inwardly over the absurd weight of the firearm.

"Yeah! Like an adventure." The boy performer yelped, quickly running along Alice's side and clinging to her dress; fingers digging into the blue fabric.

"Stupid. It wouldn't be an adventure if we're only walking up-stream." The little girl grumbled, jealous that the boy caught Alice's attention for the moment. She was quick to grab the other side of Alice's dress; both of the children dragging Alice along.

It took only a moment. And it felt like a mere second for whatever Alice had to brace herself for once she made it up the stream. Stopping in her tracks, wide-eyed, horror dawning, lungs that felt like they've been filled up with northern downpour – before her, which was crouched over, was a performer. It took Alice a long time before she realized what the performer was pawing over: flesh.

The performer didn't notice his audience of two children and an Outsider. He was too busy fawning over his meal that still pled for her life. There was a sickening crack, dislocating bone from the socket, stretching the flesh so it would easily fall apart – quickly the performer then wrapped up the wound with gauze so that his victim wouldn't suddenly die and disappear under his fingertips from the trauma and blood loss.

The performer is diligent in his work. He takes practice in washing his blade in the river and tipping the dislocated limbs and chunks of meat into the water to clean. Fingertips dance across the blade, clean enough to where he could see his eyeless face stare back at him within his stained reflection. And he'd laugh. Which left Alice and the children to silently pace back one step, but are too stricken with fear to actually jolt from their spots.

The group can hear the victim's gurgling plea, watching the way a blonde, crownless curl draped over her eyeless face. "Why can't I die?" It came out as a whisper, gurgled and paced; she gasps with the feeling of fresh blood pooling into her lungs. She's practically drowning in her own blood, with the assumption that he's cut a vital organ that's been effecting her slowly and painfully. Her chest is opened up in a Y- incision fashion. Ribs flared like a broken, caved-in birdcage; her ticking, clock-heart revealed like the main attraction to her beauty; the pentacle of life; lined in a shined, bloodstain gold. Roman Numerals sketched into the face of her clock. She's fading into whatever void that she was not allowed to enter yet. Not while her flesh was still tender, and her body hasn't disappeared and found refuge as a ticking clock – to only be left forgotten and unfixed while the land of Wonderland plunged into Hell.

Alice listened to the conversation that flowered.

Alice drew the children closer to her frame, protective arms mothering their silent retreat; the children would bury their faces against Alice's white apron. Preoccupied, the older performer has still not noticed them yet. He continues on with his feast. "I won't let you die. Not yet. Besides – you truly don't die. I know that. You know that. Everyone knows that. And once this is all over – you'll forget about it and become a different card. With a different role. Within a different territory."

"Not for a while." The female muttered, head turning to her captor. "For now, I am a lost card within a deck. Too damaged to be considered playable. Bent. Torn." Even if the faceless were abnormal, they still were constituted by their bodies – she was in shock. Her brain cut off from her natural nervous system and unable to feel the full effect of pain while the man sliced away at her flesh; skin as white as virgin snow. Chuck by chunk slowly separated from the bone. "How about a promise? A compromise?"

"I am picking away at your bones. Might as well fulfill a favor while you feed me." Absently, the man chuckled. His jester's attire jingled while he crowed her space, enjoying the way her fingers twitched when his tainted hands ran over her peeled back muscle and tendons; ravaging his meal. He holds the skin to his mouth, stretching out the barrier, chewing and swallowing whatever he can obtain.

"Smash my clock. Smash it to Hell." The woman grimly smiled, fading between lights and twilights that she has envisioned so many times before. Life after life. She can't count on her hand anymore with how many different roles she's partaken in. "I don't want to return to this world. Not when the ground gives away from underneath me. Not when I'm a - nobody. Just another card from the deck with no purpose other than to coexist with other cards. Shuffled. And discarded again."

There's a sold crimson ring around the man's mouth. His tongue nervously wiping over the shield of his teeth; keeping his jack-cheap grin. "I wouldn't say you're a - nobody. No." The man's chuckling faulted, but was still promised to be uttered behind his stained lips, "You're certainly fair. Fairer than any other card that waltz around the circus ring." For the moment he remembers a bitter taste in his mouth. Disgust. Frustration. Anger. Madness. It quickly faded back into sinister laughter. "Of course I'll follow through with your wish. Gentleman's promise." Grimly, this woman noted a small, sad smile.

A mass convulsion riddled the woman's body. Her body can't handle the torment, and the brain can only handle so much before it caves; her clock spins out of control. She's rapidly dying under his precautions fingertips. The man is even beginning to panic, like his before-life flashed over his vacant face and he questions: _what have I done?_ He swallows that ghost of him, shaking his head violently once the woman heaved and vapored. Alice can't stand the sight. She has to do something. This isn't right at all! The woman has had enough, why must she suffer?

"Stop! Get away from her!" Even the children that clung to Alice took a whole step back to stare at The Foreigner, who finally snapped and grew a backbone. Innocence has become misleading in those blue-mist eyes.

Without the void of grace, Alice quickly grasps for her shotgun with shaky hands, awkwardly positioning the butt of the gun against her shoulder, her index hooked around the trigger while the rest of her fingers curled back. Her aim is shaky, but head-on with the man that lost his mind. Her other hand looms underneath the pump, ready to pull up the sliding forearm handle. _She's never killed anyone before. She didn't ever think it would have to come to this. She assumed that she'd be saved at any moment like always. She only believed that if she carried arms with her, that they would leave her alone. Don't cry. Don't cry. _

The male performer was silent for a long time. His head tilted like a doll, curiously standing up from his position, in turn, startled Alice. She waved her gun slightly, hoping to intimate the clown. "S-stay back, monster!" Alice used the nozzle of the gun to point at the woman who was laid out, then quickly dawned it back to the deranged performer. "What did you do to her?" Silence followed, and Alice could feel her stomach muscle clench up over the promise of nausea; she can smell the setting stages of rot and decay. "Answer me!"

"I was simply hungry." He stated in matter-a-fact tone, like he assumed it was an everyday occurrence. "I wasn't getting enough on camp and didn't want to be a burden to ask for more when I knew we were rationing. But I was so _very _hungry." Alice's mouth hung open, then quickly closed up her disbelief. The man began to smile, his fingers idly strumming through the thick of his raven hair; blood sliding over the follicle. It was sickening on how sincere he sounded and the idea, alone, gave Alice a treaded realization to never trust anyone. Ever. Even the kindest stranger should be feared.

"_And I still am."_ Before Alice could jolt, the man turned around to stomp the insides of the woman's chest, crushing the clock in an earthshattering crack, snapping a few ribs that bent inwardly. The sound of glass breaking caught Alice's ears, and it almost hurt to listen to the sound that echoed against the empty plot with a stretch of water. Whatever act this man portrayed was definably taboo. It was something that even Elliot March was detained for, that smashing a clock was against custom in Wonderland – that is what Julius Monrey said. "Gentleman's promise, like I said." The man then quickly turned back to Alice, that his smile doubled and curved manically, "and what request can I give you once I've eaten you?"

The children at Alice's hip readied themselves, drawling out their performance daggers and pointed the blade in the man's direction. "Stay away from Alice," The boy bit off. "It's going to be okay, Miss Alice, we won't let him hurt you." The little girl added, also pointing her throwing dagger in the man's wake. With a flick of their wrist, they both darted their weapons, to only have them caught within skillful hands, an index and a middle upon both hands held the silver blade.

"It's like you two both forgot that I've preformed the dagger trick with both of you. I was even the one who taught you, both!" The man laughed, and it seemed almost pleasant. He then threw the blades to the ground in a clatter, the handles protruding from the earth. The children made an audible gasp, dueling panic. "Doesn't matter. You two will serve as a perfect dessert to the main course. Bite sized snacks, hm?"

"They will not! Stay back! Stop!" Alice threatened, her grasp hinged but didn't falter on the weapon in hand. Still, the man-made his pace, slowly haunting and closing the space between him and Alice. Her fingers flinched to the sound of him coming closer, her senses sharpening. She can taste her own fear. The notion seemed animalistic, how humans triggered their fright or flight instinct. In the end, only one of the two types of people were going to live. The liberal part of her mind dulled, and the conservative barked the commands to unload her clip.

It was now or never. She was practically screaming in her mind to wake up as the blood rushed to her ears. She positioned her stance, her slip-ons dug against the dirt, her knuckles fared white as her hand flexed and slid up the pump-action. The gun cocked, the sound clicked to alert her that the gun was ready.

_She can't do this. She can't do this. She can't – _**Bang!** The shotgun-sinner pulled her trigger.

A bullet shell discharged from the side, as the barrel ran hot to fling the bullet into the throat of the madman. A sound cracked against the surface, a parade of birds fluttering. When Alice observed the carnage, as the man's body slumped abnormally to the ground, she could still see the smoke drape from the nozzle, water-falling from the mouth of the gun that burned to the touch.

Alice's heart throbbed. She lurched and lamented in dismay, sinking to her knees to suppress her haunted mind. Fear-stricken, she dry heaved forward, and the children were quick to pull back Alice's hair when she lost her war to her stomach acids. Her gun has been tossed to the side, replacing the weight in her hands with her own face to sob uncontrollably. _She's a hypocrite. She went back on a firm belief to never kill, nor even considered holding a gun. _

"Alice!" She didn't snap her attention to the voice that dawned overhead, even hearing footsteps rush up the hill didn't break her from her ravine. Her hands are shaking once the owner of the voice takes hold of both of hers. "Alice –"The voice blanketed in concern, undertones soft and gentle.

The Ringmaster dropped to his knees and threw his arms around her, shielding her from prying eyes of other performers that heard the sound and ran up the hill; pressing her securely against his chest, she listened to the steady beat of his clock underneath the floor of his chest. "Alice, you did well. You are fine. _You are safe._" She cringed to his blooming lie.

Her crystal vexation peered over White's shoulder, staring up at Black who stood and waited for movement. Alice muffled against The Ringmaster's shoulder, "I didn't – aim for the head." It seemed off once she drained herself of emotion. The Warden's good eye widening to the sound of her broken-china voice, arms crossed over his chest as his boots clicked together.

The Ringmaster held her, suppressing her bleeding voice, running his hand idly over the strands of sun-kissed hair.

"You can't trust anyone, brat." The Warden muttered, not tending for the name to count as an insult, "Everyone turns to madness in the end. It is only in the matter of time. Like I said before – it's a state of mind."

…

Alice hummed a foreign sailor's tune that she could vaguely remember. Fondly, weaving her fingers through the mess of hair from the little girl that still slumbered peacefully against her.

"Quiet today." Alice smiled over the familiarity of the voice, and the way that the wooden boards from the cart creaked underneath the owner's weight. White Joker slowly took his spot next to Alice, flashing her his trademarked grin.

"It is." Alice simply said, nodding her head politely to the man.

"Seems quiet every day." He stated.

"Seems so."

Silence lingered for the moment, both pondering over the smog-smitten backdrop of Wonderland. A bird's eye view opened up by the cart.

White presented his hand to Alice. Hesitantly, she lifted her hand and rested against his open palm. She didn't mean to put off a skeptical vibe. The Jester didn't mind her skittish nature, sliding his thumb languidly over her thumb. "Joker doesn't mean what he said. What he says about you seems to be the complete opposite. Honestly, he was rather proud about you defending yourself for once."

"My first kill is something not to be proud of." Alice countered dryly, but didn't move her hand away from his.

"Not the sin, Alice. But the praise of taking a stand in our world."

"Even so –"

"– Even so, dear Alice, you may respect life, but there comes a point where life should respect you." Alice's lips thinned. She had nothing to say about that. "Still –"His free hand dawned an illusion, and Alice's eyes lightened to the gesture. A single, whispered dandelion was held up to her face. "It was something that Joker found. A weed of the sorts. But more respected among the singing flowers. It seems just as rare as flowers too." His single hue narrowed down at her, "Here. Make a wish."

"You could have made the wish. You're the one that found it." Alice flashed him a fastened, tired smile. Thankful that both Jokers have considered her in good praises.

"It wasn't I that found it. It was Joker. Besides, you're more interesting than the both of us, Alice. Therefore, you are more suitable in making a wish."

Alice sighed, ruffling the seeds of the planet. She closed her eyes for the moment, then reopened them once she was ready. She inhaled a great deal of air and blew against the planet, spreading the seeds that tilted and left with the goodbye breeze.

**Alice was not innocent anymore. Her dollhouse was crashing down on her. Her perfect reality was a mere hallucination, she just prayed they lasted longer. **


	3. Chapter 3

**No Sabbath on Sundays**

_For six days, work is to be done, but the seventh day shall be your holy day, a Sabbath of rest to the LORD. Whoever does any work on it must be put to death. –Exodus 35:2_

_Phony people come to pray._

_**Who am I?**_

Dissolving. The world around her is dissolving between her fingers, breaking off grass blades that wither between her precise fingertips. She heeds the vast plains, and the notion strikes up some sort of morbid fear within her being. Gnawing, the fear is short from fleeting and she knows this far too well.

Perhaps Wonderland also enjoyed head games; displaying gruesome imagery, arising hell-bound storms that make headaches seem like home.

Alice wanted to go home.

She didn't mind Wonderland – considering she believed it was a dream at first – childlike and forming like a playground. Now, Wonderland took on a different form of a melted nightmare. The Mad are populating drastically, tensions are accumulating, and even dear Alice – liberal to every belief – has grown accustomed to the exact weight and feel of a caliber held within her dainty grasp. The Jokers knew this, and they simply smiled at the revelation that their most delightful Foreigner has picked up firearms and borderline a fair degree of _mad_. Though, they considered her interesting either way of the spectrum.

"Now, why _are _you crying?" The Warden inquired with a tilt of his head, jingling chains and jewelry with such a quirk. "Hopefully it is for good reason. I do despise it when you cry. It is troubling, after all." Black Joker taps his riding crop impatiently against the side of his thigh, staring down at Alice with his single, good, but baleful wine eye.

"Just trying to remember _who _I used to be," said Alice, rather shyly. She's cradling one of the bodies of the children that use to hoard around her: the Boy. And the sad ploy to the demise of this child is that it was Alice who silenced this tiny performer's mind fevers. It was a matter of time before the children would catch the off sickness. The girl performer huddles close to Alice's frame, basking in some type of warmth; fearing before, she, too, becomes devoured by madness and the watering on the brain.

"Well, _who_ are you? Or what are you implying?" Black Joker sternly went about the conversation. Alice needed to pull herself together. They needed to leave the child behind and get the carts moving again before the cynically insane discovered their resting grounds.

"I hardly know, Black, just at the present – at least I knew who _I was _before falling down that rabbit hole. I was a perfectly normal girl before then," said Alice, thumbing and tangling her fingers into strands of brown hair, pressing the motionless child's face to her breast as if to assert some false protection – even if she evoked execution with her gun, alone. "I believe it wouldn't be absurd to say that I miss my home in Oxford, and Wonderland is nothing that resembles silly natures – such as dreams." Alice finished off on a melancholy note, laced beautifully into her vocal cords that strummed dully.

"I wouldn't know. Now, get up. We need to go. But, please, dabble all you want on identity while we are in motion. This –" The Black Joker gestured to the lifeless body of the faceless child tucked securely in Alice's arms, cradling all his dead weight on her lap, " – is pathetic. You have little time to mourn, and the idea seems redundant. Mourning over faceless no less. Bitching over the dead when you should be more aware of the living. The dead is not going to slit your throat at night, brat, it's the living."

"Who am I?" Alice spoke softly, cutting off The Warden's rant. Then, the Foreigner screamed at the man who plagued her to move on, repeating, "Who am I!? This bloody world can go to Hell! I had no business in this world. I had no right to meet _you people. _I want – to go home! I had no right to kill this child in my arms – I"

"– Shut up! Can you just fuckin' shut up?! I can barely keep this going. You need to move now!" Black dug his grasp underneath Alice's arms, hoisting her in a sharp motion off the ground that caused her to drop the dead child from her lap to the soil underneath her. The little girl also followed along with the lift, standing in fear next to The Warden in hope to not get in his way.

Black jerked Alice around to face him. Alice tried to fight back, but Black would have none of that. Plucking her shotgun and hanging the strap from his shoulder, he bent from his knees and hoisted Alice on his other shoulder to force her to follow him. "_Who am I?," he mocked, "_Stupid, stupid questions from idiotic girls that have no business to enforce what's right in _our_ world. Now, we're moving and you're holding us up. If it was up to me, I'd fuckin' leave you."

"Then leave me!" Alice cried out, hiding her face into the thick black of Black's uniformed jacket, fisting handfuls of fabric from her jutted, hanging position. "Leave me –"Her voice died into her brash sob. "I was never cut out for this world. I'd be better off de-"

"Shut your fuckin' mouth and quit feelin' sorry for yourself. You have every right to keep living – I'll see to it that you will live, brat. And you better be fuckin' happy about it." The Warden jostled the girl on his shoulder, curling his arm over her waist and carrying her along.

Silence loomed, and from the distance Alice watched the child's body dissolve into a pocket watch, stopped on an odd hour of three. _Keep living. One day she might be able to go home. _

"Thank you." Alice muttered, not entirely keen on the idea of being manhandled and carried to the circus carts to ready for departure. At least her brain fevers settled, and she was able to taste some form of sanity.

"Of course," said The Warden, rather dryly.

"But I don't forgive you for who I am today."

"I really do not care _who _you are, princess."

"I really can't explain myself, I'm afraid. Because I'm not myself, you see," Alice countered.

"I don't see," The Warden interjected.

"Then I'm afraid I can't make myself any clearer – considering I don't know, myself. Not anymore."

_**Mad as Rabbits**_

"Funny to believe that we are fortunate enough to stumble upon the young miss, less so by Joker, I'm afraid." Blood Dupre was a fickle man. Even towards the twilight of time, he was still cautious about the virgin white of his suit and how blood never tinged the fabric, nor laced into the fibers of his gloves. His henchmen – on the other hand – have seen better mornings.

"You may have stumbled across us, but it doesn't mean we'd let you join us," White Joker chimed rather fondly for such a crude remark. His grip on the handle of his whip was wound tighter than usual. Even his smile didn't put off illusion of happiness in stumbling across The Mad Hatter Mafia. But Alice didn't expect sheer happiness that they have found Blood.

"Safety in numbers," muttered Alice, standing close to Black Joker's side.

"There's safety in how many bullets you carry, too, brat." Black added, rather drolly.

"And security is reassurance," Alice countered, causing Blood to flash her a fleeting glance of muffled amusement, "I'd say let them join us. We are losing more and more workers – which means we'd have enough space to let them own residency on one of the carts. They also have remaining workers that could join with the circus crowd – if we just work together –"

White Joker waved Alice off on that note, "Extending partnership and aide to The Mad Hatter is rich enough. _Not if Mister Dupre is inclined to beg, _then perhaps I could muster enough pity to lend a hand." The Ringmaster chuckled lightly. Blood found no such humor within the madman's voice, his iceberg hues matched up with wine.

"White –"Alice went to reach for The Ringmaster's arm, but Black blocked it off.

The notion of finding The Hatter Group was remarkable. All it took was three hours of travel and one time shift to find the group of white and obvious colors of reds, blues, and Eliot's swatch of colors of purples and teals. Blood's hat did seem to draw in the most attention, of course. The group was walking down the stretch of twisted, dirt road, staring at loud colored signs that told false directions.

"Killing would be less trouble than begging to a clown for help," said Blood with a hollow grin etched into the porcelain of his skin. "We'd be more inclined to stay under the young miss' wishes."

"You cannot be serious about accepting help from them, Blood, right?" Elliot bellowed, disdain draped from every slurred vocabulary that came from his lips, staring at his boss in utter betrayal – almost.

"I'm not accepting help from them, Elliot, I'm only accepting help The Young Miss," said Blood, but Elliot found no comfort in his boss's words, nor real sense of _security. _He had every right to kill the Jokers over and over for old trials and fresh wounds from his criminal past, though, Elliot never considered his mistrial _criminal. _He was only following an old friend's dying wish.

"But –"

"Elliot?" Alice inquired, snapping Elliot from his almost disloyalty, "It will be okay. Now, follow me and I'll help set up your cart. You and Blood can share one, or I can make room for single."

"Single would be fine, Miss." Blood answered for Elliot.

"Of course."

"Wait a minute, Alice, did we also agree to let them travel with us?" White called out.

"No, no we didn't. But I wasn't going to wait around and listen to men argue. My world is already full of men that do nothing but argue."

_**Sleep and Mirrors**_

Alice woke up to the sound of knocking. At first, she understood the sound to be radiating from the cart door, until she heard the knocking come from the mirror again. The sound was ominous, bewitching, and horribly haunting. The sound was like flesh tapping repeatedly, or bone-white knuckle rapping against solid surface, silently calling her closer and closer to her reflection. This happened with all mirrors within the very depths of Wonderland.

Stumbling, Alice moved from her cot, drawling in close to The Ringmaster's side of his separate cot on the adjacent end of the moveable cart. She knelt to her knees, fingers tugging at the material of his blanket that jostled him awake.

She would whisper, "The mirror is knocking again." Her tone died into a pregnant pause, listening to the rustle of blankets and the creaking of shifted weight on White's cot.

"The mirror is always knocking, ignore it," White slowly said, reaching out in engulfing darkness to touch the side of Alice's face, mapping out the silhouette of her jaw structure in the complete darkness.

"Will you look at it with me, again?" Alice rose to her feet, the wood from the cart creaked and moaned out with every unsettled step. She backed away from the cot when White finally struggled to get up himself.

Ever since Alice began to lose her mind in a lost land, all the mirrors knocked and woke her from her slumber. She's stare upon the glassy surface, running her hands against the parallel universe, her image would distort and cease the knocking for another night.

"Now, dear Alice?" White hummed, but was exasperated by the idea of standing up in his drunken sleep-like state to only chase away her barking night-terrors. "Only if you ignore – wait. I can start banning mirrors on all the carts? Perhaps, you'll be able to sleep." Wonderland's looking-glass never did promise the thin line of perfect truth, there was no difference in the matter of lies and ripping the fabric of space apart.

"I wouldn't want you to do that, that would practically be unfair to the rest."

"It's not like _they _matter. How many times do I have to repeat myself, Alice? They're just clocks and nothing more. Same goes to mirrors – they are only reflections that move."

"But the knocking –"Her mind mentally ticked away the seconds, her eyes getting use to the ongoing darkness that drowned the cart.

"-Will die out."

"Will you at least look at it with me?" It was uncanny when Alice begged, and it was absolutely foreign when Alice touched someone else's hand before they touched hers. But this world had a habit of changing people in the most enigmatic ways. Alice touched The Ringmaster's hand first, her smaller hands graced the back of his larger ones, turning them slowly in her palms.

"How could I say no? I might be a fool, but I am not to that degree." Alice couldn't see the wide, crooked grin of the man in the dark.

Slowly, White removed his hands from Alice's dainty touch. Turning to one side to rummage through his leftover cargo in search for one of his old oil lamps that he used to keep in his personal tent on Circus Grounds. Once he found his source of light, he lifted the glass chimney up and off the burner, fumbling in the dark and tracing out the wick. The Ringmaster patted the pockets of his night pants several times until he found his bundle of matches, striking the flare and lighting the wick – only to place the glass chimney back over the burner to keep the flame from dying out.

Alice made an inaudible gasp once White turned to face her again in the dull, orange glow. She glanced over several times to see that Black still remained in his own cot, untouched by the light sounds that graced within their personal cart.

"Shall we see what the mirror wants, Alice?"

Did mirrors tell lies? When Alice stared upon the mirror – she saw herself; a normal reflection of her in her nightgown. But it was the company within the reflection that startled Alice. Staring off-centered, she could also see White's reflection. It was his reflection that was knocking upon the other side of the glass, beckoning her in to trace the surface of the mirror, but White pulled her back from his reflection.

His image was distorted. He almost looked like – _the Devil. _But Alice didn't ponder around the fables of biblical tales that told of saints and demons. When she felt White's hand grace her bare shoulder, she continued to stare at her own reflection of her and White. The image portrayed him with long, curled claws that draped over her shoulder, and a white jester's mask with a black etched smile that covered his identity. One eye from the mask was sealed closed, while the other was black and hollow and deep.

"White?"

"Yes?" They both stared at their other selves.

"How did you lose your eye?"

"You've never asked that before."

"I'm only curious." The Outsider's lips thinned, feeling sorry for her reflection whose image distorted, but her frown was evident and daunting. Alice gasped when she watched the image of White's hand leave her shoulder in the mirror, moving up and covering only one of her ocean eyes with the same hand, blinding her with a gentle caress, moving aside strands of sun-kissed hair. He moved his other hand that held the oil lamp closer to the mirror.

"Being curious is a foolish notion, no? I've read – or possibly I heard – that knowledge is to be studied in the dark. When they talk about God, or a god – they never mention two all-knowing eyes. Only in the singular stance. To be a God is to know dreams."

"What are you talking about?" There's a solid ache in Alice's throat, but she didn't budge or remove White's hand that covered her eye. His touch was warm enough.

"Now, Alice," White faintly chuckled, "What would be the fun in telling you the truth? You'll know about Wonderland soon enough. Just go to sleep."

_Alice had a lot to think about during her journey. _

**A/N: Finally updated and shame on me for not doing it sooner. Had a lot going on. As you all can tell I'm starting to put up creepy verses from the bible (yes I'm Christian, but that shit can be scary) **

***I have to apologize for making this chapter shorter than the rest. It was a filler – and filled with symbolism that will be revealed at the end of this fic… I can't tell you! **

****And no – White does not hurt Alice – just gave her a lot to think about.**

***** The who are you part was inspired by the original story: Conversation with the Caterpillar, but it contributes to the ending. **

****** Lastly, White's reflection in the mirror is also a huge giveaway at the end. **


	4. Chapter 4

**No Sabbath on Sundays**

"_No one has ever seen God." – John 1:18_

_They were crying when their sons left. God is wearing black._

_**The bitter son of Abraham.**_

"Is it okay if I sit down next to you, Elliot?" Alice smiled sweetly, bending from her knees and watching Elliot swing his legs off the edge of the cart mindlessly, pondering over absent matters that didn't completely apply to his current position of traveling by circus cart while elephants pulled the weight in front.

Elliot craned his neck to look up at the brimming face of Alice, who loomed close. The man smiled and straightened his posture, "Alice, you know you never have to ask me that. I always enjoy your company."

Alice tucked her dress underneath her, trying her best to preserve her graceful nature in sitting down, "I wouldn't say that with the first time you've met me." Alice hummed, chuckling lightly over the slight shock on Elliot's chiseled features.

"I must admit, you did surprise me."

"I wouldn't assume I looked threatening."

"Cut me some slack," said Elliot, chirping out a laugh. "Even children are dangerous in this neck of the woods."

They both chuckled until it fell into a comfortable silence. A pair of eyes trailing the misty flat of Wonderland, dark smog started to settle from the distant wildfires that sprung out like weeds and dotted the brush of forest. Flames licked the plains like tidal waves, crashing and causing swells, consuming life everywhere they had spilt out. The cart bumped every few steps, potholes becoming a constant worry from the rickety wooden wheels of the cart.

"They've been threatenin' ya right, Alice," inquired Elliot, solemnly. His cheerful tone now devoid from any hint of happiness, just plain worry flooded his vocabulary.

Alice nodded, not completely matching up to the violet coloring of his eyes, "They've taken care of me, well enough. It's mostly arguments. I wouldn't worry too much for me, Elliot." Alice flashed him a fleeting smile, turning the tables into something thin. "Its just arguments that reminded me of fighting with Blood –"Elliot stiffened, "nothing too big. Just bickering."

Elliot nodded, muttering, "Good. As long as they haven't done anything to hurt you. That's all I care about, Alice."

"Elliot?"

"Yes, Alice?"

"Are _you _okay? You looked troubled the first time we stopped off."

A pregnant pause, the tension caused Elliot to stretch his arms, relieving his joints, "You know, Alice, I wouldn't believe there would come a day where Blood actually bothered me. To dismiss my claim – you know what the Jokers did to me – but there comes a point where you just need to brush it off. Alice, I hope you know the only reason I'm going to keep going is to ensure your safety, along with Blood's. I've promised him that. I'll see this until the end."

"Even so, Elliot," Alice's hand graced over Elliot's, squeezing gently, "I'm glad that you're here with me, now."

Elliot returned the touch, cradling Alice's delicate hand, "Me too."

_**Women are Not Weak**_

"I've heard you've become quite capable in handling yourself, Miss," droned Blood with his lips barely touching the rim of his teacup, something that he'd never travel without. He has a fear that one day he'll run out of rations, but he never states his phobia and continues on normally, asking Elliot to top off his glass with the tilt of a teapot.

"With no fuckin' help from you," muttered The Black Joker, his arms crossed and eyed the Mad Hatter on the adjacent end. Blood waves off the Warden's statement, flooding his attention with a vision of Alice who was busy stuffing a hunter's blade on the inside of her hiking boots and the outside of her socks.

After many upcoming invasions of the mad, The Jokers abolished Alice's choice of attire, deeming it impossible and highly irrational to own a dress; frilly dresses and slip-ons would do Alice no good while running for her life. They've fitted her with a proper gun holster that suited a forty-five caliber that strapped to her hip, shorts that would make for easy running and comfort, boots that are made for running and hiking and housed hunting knives on the side, hair braided, and a simple button-up shirt; Alice even keeps her shotgun strapped to her back at all times - ever since paranoia has started to eat its way through.

"I can't always rely on others," said Alice, rather drolly. She made busy to tighten her boots, then smoothed out her attire once she finished her adjusting.

"Of course, I could only assume The Jokers are incapable of protecting the Young Miss. Don't fret, Alice, I'm here to make sure nothing unbecoming happens to you."

"Tch." Black bit off bitterly, and White simply knitted together a bemused grin over Alice's features that flashed a variety of emotions – none of them registered as _pleased. _Elliot watched curiously, his lips thinning to Alice's changed expression, a finger tapping impatiently on the teapot.

"No. No, thank you." Alice smiled, but her eyes played on a different tale, smothering out her true words. "I've done just fine. The Jokers have been a great deal of help. I, however, don't need to have you in my way while defending myself, Blood." Alice's smile grew larger, "You're lucky I found you, Blood. I'll make sure nothing _unbecoming _happens to you, now."

Black's obnoxious laugh rung out, along with White who followed on cue. Elliot had to hide his smile, shaking his head mildly and impressed by Alice's change.

_This was not 1865 in the little nook of London, anymore. And Alice was not a small child begging for her sister's hand. Alice couldn't tell how long she's been in Wonderland. But she knew one thing: No man would challenge her. Not anymore. _

_**Testing Virtue**_

The sun is setting which means she'll soon go to afraid to on guard.

The passing towns are in shambles. Buildings were gutted and ramshackle for all its goods and purposes. Tall structures, that were once built to withstand, now protrude unsteady. They waver under sharp gales that carry debris, the pungent smells of burning flesh, and the howls of the half-living that peak in and out of windows, watching the circus carts clatter their ominous sound down the long stretch of city road. The elephants that hauled the carts stumbled; even the great beasts couldn't help but feel dread that was coming.

Alice walks behind the carts, trailing close and in-between both of the Jokers that paid no heed to the mad that watched them high from their perch on old buildings. But Alice stops and listens to the building shaking. There was a rumbling, but Alice couldn't pinpoint from where, watching the Jokers walk ahead of her, and letting Blood and Elliot pass her. The pump-action shotgun that she carries makes a click, sliding the pump down and letting it spring back into place before cradling it close to her chest.

They had to search through the dilapidated buildings, praying that there were no survivors, coming across shards of broken clocks and some that bore half-past threes. Rations were becoming scarce, and if Alice hoped to find more of her friends along the journey, she had to find a means to provide for them.

"I assume we are splitting up for this?" Alice asked, waiting for a response from the stubborn men that couldn't put pride aside for a means of survival.

"Ya think, brat? These builds are huge. It'll take us a long ass time to scout out. Bastard, call out to the elephants to make a stop," said Black, who couldn't shake the arising anger of having The Hatters so close to home, so close to his belongings – and so close to Alice who watched him earnestly. He didn't trust any of them, besides his counterpart, but that would technically be like looking at the same entity and talking to himself – which he did.

White Joker waved his hand, letting his performers know to crack the whip and to halt his elephants. "Not if dear Alice is still uneasy about going alone? We wouldn't mind tagging along," mumbled White, not meaning anything by it. Alice glanced at Blood who fashioned her a smug smile, causing a swell of her own pride take root deep within her rib-cage. It was a chance to show Blood that she didn't need any of them to survive on her own.

"No, no. I'm fine." Alice turned her back from the mafia boss, drawing her index finger to a random building that perked to the north and had its shop window caved in with scattered glass. "I'll be over here. It was an old shop that sold bedding. I'll gather some blankets, and I'll rummage for new pillows. Hopefully they haven't been stolen from the shelves yet," she finished off with a meek smile.

"Very well, dear Alice." White noted.

"You better be fuckin' careful," Black added, "Don't be a moron. If something shows up I want you to yell out for us."

"Yes, Dad," Alice waved him off sarcastically, causing a grumble to arise from the back of Black's throat.

"Bitch better call me dad," Black turned to his counterpart, "She's begging for a spanking."

"How distasteful, Joker." White went on with a grin, watching Alice's retreating figure, then turning his steady single gaze to the two men. "What? Aren't you going to go on your merry way, also?"

Both of The Hatters said nothing, rounded their remaining supported staff and continued on to their own buildings to check.

Alice's teeth gritted once she finally reaches her own building, jingling the knob of the door and declaring it locked. She rounds to the corner of the building and decides to step through the caved in window, her boots crunching on shattered glass and stepping on top of the display case, pushing aside toppled over mannequins and using her shotgun to retreat some form of balance.

She moves through shadows of the building. Her luminescent blue eyes dulling the deeper she makes her way through the decaying structure, adjusting her shoulder strap of her backpack that she is expected to fill with supplies that she has stumbled upon. Dust shifts down from above, the cracked walls and ceilings groaning and Alice makes believe that the building was only settling.

Alice's boots click down amble hallways, making her way for the storage room to check for anything to contribute to. She shoves open one door, finding it jammed and unmoved, then she pushes on the door adjacent from that one and finding it swaying from the hinges, almost. She sighs with relief, fumbling over the shelves that spill with sheets and bedding for random Wonderland weather. One day its raining, next it's burning, after that it's hailing.

She's quick to unfasten her shoulder strap, letting the bag slump to the floor as she dives her hands into the sea of blankets, stuffing all the material she can into it. Her shotgun clicks a couple of times against her flesh, but she's too excited to mind her own findings. The room is so quiet that she can hear her own heartbeat, along with her rustling with the sheets and the scattering of dust that picks up with her quick movements, leaving Alice to faintly cough and brush her eyes that began to burn. Any other sound, other than her heart, would be a blessing to hear, now.

Alice smiles wryly as her arms strain with her luggage, strapping her carry-on back on her body, tightening the straps. She observed the room once again before continuing on with the next, repeating with taking off her bag again and rummaging through the next room's belongings.

While her back is to the door, she hears something mechanical, like joints retracting. The whir of the sound makes her pause and then she quickly gathers her senses to pull the shotgun out in the dark, unloading a shell. But only once.

Her hands shake and the sound echoes out in the small room, she swallows hard when she frisks for a flashlight from her back pocket and shines it against aluminum trash baskets; a hole has blown straight through one, something from the aftermath on her side of the gun and she can smell ash and burning fabric. She laughs inwardly to herself, believing that she was alone and safe and so she leaves her gun against the corner of the room so that she'll have more room to carry down heavier things.

It was a rookie mistake and Alice paid dear for it when she felt foreign hands flood her like the sea and pushed her into a current against the wall, and through bedding that cramped the shelves. Strange hands begin to swarm up her body, pulling at the hem of her shirt, sliding dexterous fingers up the flat plain of her stomach. She goes to scream but another hand closes off her opportunity and the owner of the hands speaks sweetly into the shell of her ear.

"Such a pretty, pretty creäture. With a pretty, pretty heart." The man's chest pressed against her back, rubbing himself against the small of her back. "And all alone, too? My, it must me my lucky day." Alice's voice muffled, and her cursing was slurred behind a warm hand. "Haven't seen a decent one pass by me for several days – all the others are dead. Pity."

Alice tries to claw the man's hands away from her mouth, struggling against his sharp movements, disgusted that he would – press something against her. "Good thing your gun went off. I would have had never found you." He nips against her sensitive flesh, trailing his lips down the elegant curve of her neck before using his tongue to leave a thin trail of saliva.

Alice tries not to panic. She tries reassure herself and the man gains confidence once she stops struggling. Slowly, Alice maps her own body and pats the side of her pants, whisking one of her many hunting knives.

She hears a zipper being pulled down. It's hers. But Alice waits it out, calculating an appropriate time for him to release some weight off of her body. Then her shirt's being pulled by its buttons, one by one the buttons snap from their threads, clattering to the rubble from underneath her feet, shifting the dirt as her boots click around by this man's movement.

"I'm going to make you a woman, today." The man sickly chuckles, moving to unzip his own zipper from the front of his trousers.

Alice keeps her poise, waiting to attack by keeping the handle blade hidden. But her female mind screams and dulls her senses, making her blind and deaf to her surroundings. Once the man turns Alice around to introduce his eyeless face – Alice snaps and thrusts the blade into his chest cavity.

The man gasps, scratching at her hands and leaving tendrils of dull pain down her arms. Alice ignores the warning signs, half-bare and uncaring, Alice removes the blade from his rib-cage and stabs again, bringing the man to the ground in an earth-shattering second.

She's on his body now, straddling his hips, making sure this man gets a taste of death, making sure that he knows that he is being overpowered by a woman in all her simplicities. Alice doesn't even budge to cover up her own intimate parts, she's too busy trying to seize her mind. She can't even stifle her trepidation, her breath fogging in the air from every jagged intake she takes.

"Alice?" She ignores the voice, cradling her own desire of primal fright and flight. "Alice!" The blade finally lodges against bone, protruding from the faceless' rib-cage. She makes to pull the blade out but struggles against the curled bone, her hands slipping against the handle over how bloody she made it.

She successfully removes the stained blade, flicking the knife to rid the latest kill, mindlessly jutting the knife forward to whoever interrupted her, threatening anyone an inch closer.

"Put the fuckin' blade down," Black said bitterly, slowly removing his uniform jacket and holding it out in front of her.

White took the bundle of clothing from his counterpart, slowly pacing himself to the girl who sat atop of the man who wished to wrong her, to steal that last bit of innocence she held dear. "We heard your gun, Alice, you did well." Alice studied The Ringmaster, letting him dawn closer to her body, draping the warden's jacket over her indecent frame.

Bloodstains splattered between her breast, and scratches from the man's struggling riddled her arms. She held the blade close to her chest for comfort, cocooning her frame with the jacket. She let out a bitter sigh, but she did not cry this time.

"Can – you carry me back to the cart?" She finally asked, and Black obliged by kneeling down on one knee and wrapping his arms around her, making sure the jacket stayed on her body. "I'm so tired." Adrenaline rushed her body too fast, and left nothing in its wake. She became even more tired once she felt warmth, and The Warden's calm breathing brush against her face, slowly pulling her to his chest and moving her out of the room.

White picked up Alice's luggage, trailing the two close.

_**Even the Devil sleeps.**_

The Ringmaster hummed a steady tune, letting his hand dance over the tops of hers, giving her room to lean against his chest while she faced away from him. Her nightgown hung off the edge of his cot, her legs crossed and hid underneath the fabric of her sleepwear.

Black sat to the side and held her other hand, numbly running his thumb over hers.

They would scavenge around another time. But, right now, it was a time of rest.

Alice's eyes drooped over the harmonized rumble from The Ringmaster's chest, counting the minutes of his clock that ticked aimlessly within his chest. Soon, she started counting the seconds before she became too tired to function.

And so she dreamed.


End file.
